


Ladder to the Stars

by haleyospaghettio



Category: BioShock, BioShock Infinite
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Background Relationships, Bioshock Infinite: Burial at Sea, F/M, Feels, Finally, Gen, In which things turn out well for my babies, Memories, Past Character Death, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4298355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haleyospaghettio/pseuds/haleyospaghettio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeth reflects and learns that it's not over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ladder to the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> The end was inspired by a YouTube comment. I was originally going to draw it, but as it turns out, my art skills are less than acceptable. 
> 
> That being said, this was thought out and executed in about seven hours. I hope you you guys like it because I liked writing it. :D

      _Am I dead?_

     That is the first thought that runs through Elizabeth’s mind when she regains consciousness. She immediately decides that _no, Elizabeth, you’re not_ , because the dead do not think.

     The dead also do not feel, and the dull ache in her skull means that she is very much not dead. Everything is dark, and she is alone. The last time she woke up, Booker was there. Or, a hallucination of him was. He is not here, no version of him, but she wishes he was.

     Booker was her first friend, the first real person to ever care for her, and he was dead. He almost died so many times. Comstock’s soldiers, the Vox Populi, Firemen..everything in Columbia was against them, yet Booker prevailed every time.

     The pain of his death had not subsided. He had to die, he knew that. Elizabeth knew that also, but that did little to numb the ache she felt every time he entered her mind.

     She spent her time in Rapture trying to get rid of Comstock. She had a cold persona towards him the entire time, because _she knew_. She knew that he was not Booker, not really. He was just a different version of him. Elizabeth would be lying if she said it didn’t hurt. It did hurt, seeing a parasite using Booker’s appearance as a cover. Watching Comstock get so distressed over losing Sally and getting impaled by the Big Daddy left Elizabeth feeling like someone had hacked off one of her limbs.

     She knew that feeling well. That same sensation had run through her nearly every time Booker ended up on the brink of death during their escapades in Columbia.

_I never want to feel that again._

     The weight was lifted, of course, when Booker’s face changed to Comstock’s. She hated him for all he had done to her. She hated the fact that someone so awful could be an alternate version of someone so dear to her. Things had just fallen apart afterwards.

      _Rapture, Sally, Atlas..Damn him._

     Elizabeth swallows and flickers her eye lids. They’re open, or at least they feel that way. Everything is just..dark. She doesn’t know what’s happening or where she is.. The only thing she knows is her head hurts, and the more she thinks about what happens to her, the more her stomach churns and she feels ill..

     The Little Sisters are safe, at least. They always had the short end of the stick that was life in Rapture, but in the end, they made it. The Little Sisters had never done anything wrong. They only did what what they were made to do. They were innocent children that were taken from the orphanage, from their homes, and turned into drug gatherers. Jack would take care of them, he’d saved them.

     Elizabeth found solace in that before she..what? She didn’t die. She was here now, breathing, forming thoughts, remembering. Her thoughts drift back to Booker, and she knows she’ll regret it but she doesn’t know what else to think about. Most of her memories are of him, anyway.

     Booker DeWitt was by no means the most pleasant person. When she’d first met him, she was startled, of course. _You should worry about your mental state if a man falls through your ceiling and you immediately run up to make friends, no matter how lonely you may be_ , she thinks.

     After he showed her that he had the way out, though, her thoughts changed and he reminded her of the men in the fairytales she would read when she was younger, the ones who would always burst in to save the princess and the day. It was silly, she knew that, but when you spend so much of your time in a cage, your imagination tends to run wild.

     She remembers, with less eagerness, the times they had that weren’t so great. The first time she watched him kill, him lying about taking her to Paris for her own personal gain, the multiple times he almost got killed..she doesn’t like thinking about those things.

     Booker was never perfect, but he wasn’t bad. He saved her. He saved her from her tower and from Comstock house. He told her he wouldn’t leave her, he wouldn’t let her do the difficult things alone. When her powers had ended up killing Chen Lin, Booker had comforted her. At the time, it was pointless and it made her angry more than anything. Now, though, she understood.

     He wasn’t trying to make her believe they were innocent, because they were far from that. What happened to the gun maker wasn’t her fault. His death in that reality was inevitable. If Elizabeth had known then that it would get an innocent man killed, she wouldn’t have done it. She knew that, and Booker did, too. He tried to comfort her, to tell her the truth, and she let her anger make them both feel worse.

     Since Booker had died, Elizabeth had done a lot of thinking. At first, her heart wished they had a do over. She wished that she and Booker’s stories would have played out differently, so they were both alive and together and okay. She knew though that logically, it would have the same outcome.

      _Constants and variables. The same coin, different perspective._

     Elizabeth misses Booker. The feeling is a little over whelming now. She sighs and swallows a lump in her throat that she didn’t notice had formed. She knows that she should stop thinking about it, about him. It’d save her a lot of pain. She can’t stop from going back to him, though. The memories of him, of them, they’re in her mind like a slide show.

     The last desperate battle between them and the Vox, Booker killing Comstock, walking with him past all of the doors.

_There’s always a lighthouse, a city, a man._

     Watching Songbird, the only other thing she could ever come close to considering a friend, die, listening to Booker tell her about his baptism and then her drowning him. He had sounded a little surprised, and confused. Finding the strength to hold him under the water until he just stopped being was the hardest thing she had ever done.

     Her breathing is a little labored now and the ache in her skull is more intense. The last memory that floats to the surface in the aftershock of the tidal waves that are her thoughts is from Shanty Town. Booker had found that guitar and strummed the chords expertly with thick fingers.

     She remembers that vividly.

     Her voice had contrasted well with Booker’s playing. It was one of the few moments that they’d shared that wasn’t total chaos. It had been small, but meaningful.

_Will the circle be unbroken? By and by, by and by._

_Is a better home awaiting in the sky, in the sky?_

     The song was fresh in her mind now, but now the one she’d heard growing up. It was her voice and Booker’s guitar. It was a low hum in her ears, and it felt _real_.

      _One by one their seats were emptied, and one by one, they went away._

_Now the family is parted. Will it be complete some day?_

     The ending of the song rings in her ears. It seems to strike the lowest blow. Her conscious scolds her.

      _You’re losing it, Elizabeth_. She squeezes her eyes shut and shivers. The music is getting louder and the pain in her head grows with the noise. Then, it fades out and a sound similar to a record skipping replaces it. A little father off, she hears a voice.

      _Open your eyes, Elizabeth._

     The voice is too far away to make out.

      _It’s pointless! I tried! I can’t see anything!_

_So try again._

     And so she does. Her eyes snap open and she gasps. It is still dark, but in front of her is one of her tears. She can’t see anything on the other side, but she doesn’t hesitate to pull it open. The sensation is different than before. It used to be simple, like pulling open two curtains and stepping through. This time, it felt like she was being smothered and then finally able _breathe_ and her body is fighting for it.

     She coughs, hard, and once she’s certain she won’t choke on her breath, she looks around. There’s a window to her left, an actual window with panes and pulled back drapes. People are outside, walking and riding bicycles, and birds are chirping. In the distance, she sees the top of the Eiffel Tower.

     Her breath falters and she feels a little like crying. The last time she was in Paris..things didn’t go well. It wasn’t even _real_.

      _Is_ this _real_?

     Elizabeth lets out a soft sigh and turns her gaze from the window to the space across from her.

     “Oh my god,” she breathes.

      _Booker_.

    “Elizabeth,” Booker nods at her. There’s two cups of coffee on the table between them. One cup is half empty.

     “Booker..I..don’t understand,” Elizabeth says, and she doesn’t understand, but she is so _happy_. Her head isn’t hurting anymore and her heart feels heavy and she’s _crying_. It doesn’t make sense. He’s dead. She _should_ be dead. Elizabeth feels like there’s a puzzle in her head and the pieces don’t want to fit. She should be trying to figure it out, but for the first time in her life, she doesn’t care about the puzzle.

     Booker smiles at her and she can’t help but smile back. Booker DeWitt smiles are rare, and this one is just for her. He pushes a cup towards her, the full one, and scratches the back of his head.

     “Well, you always said your powers were a form of wish fulfillment.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! So, that's over with.
> 
> I don't feel like anyone ever truly understands BioShock, but I think I did okay. The whole alternate universe stuff is a pain in the ass but that's what makes the series great, I think. 
> 
> You, dear reader, may be like: "This makes no sense" and you're probably right, but. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I hope you guys liked it anyway.


End file.
